


Confinement

by Shruikanceta



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Body Horror, Character Study, Mind Break, Other, though not much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2017-10-13
Packaged: 2019-01-16 18:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12348501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shruikanceta/pseuds/Shruikanceta
Summary: In the brink of oblivion, Rhaast struggles to keep himself whole.





	Confinement

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for my RP blog, but since I liked the result and it kinda works alone, I decided to upload it here too. Enjoy your unusual darkin suffering.

’ _Do not forget, Rhaast_ ’.

The Darkness whispered, soft and pitiful like the musings of a mother and so, so loathable. Rhaast did all he could to ignore it, to silence the treacherous words, echoes from his memories, but it was so hard.

It was so dark, so cold and lonely.

Lost in the entrails of the earth, buried under the dirt, Darkness was all he knew, all he had known for such a long time he started to doubt there was actually something else. The cities and places he remembered, the people, the prophecies of his creators, so full of twisted bliss; all of them so distant they seemed fragments of a dream.

But darkin did not dream. There was no sleep, nor a moment of respite in that never ending nothingness he was confined in.

’ _Don not forget, Rhaast_ ’.

He did not forget. Sometimes he wished he did.

Remembering was as much as his salvation as it was his never ending torture. He remembered the scorched fields, the smoke of war, filling his core with a desperate desire he could not satiate. He was impotent, tortured by those memories of what he could no longer attain, torn apart from the inside as if they were made of blades.

He wished he could throw them away so he stopped feeling all this misery for the things lost, for all he couldn’t have. He was trapped, chained, his weapon body a burden he never though he would feel. And he was alone.

Where were his brothers, his sisters? Where they confined too, maddened by the curse of oblivion?

’ _Do not forget, Rhaast_ ’.

“ **I don’t** ”, he spoke to the Darkness. The only response he got was the metallic echo of his own voice, muffled by the soil.

As much as he despised them, it felt relieving to feign a conversation with the ghosts in his mind. The whispers never ceased, tormenting him, but sometimes they were better than the unbearable silence. Others, he was so sick of them he let time go by saying nothing, thinking about nothing, just feeling a frustration that never got away.

Those moments could go on for hours, days, months. He didn’t know anymore. Sometimes they would get interrupted by a distant sound; a vibration on the earth, unknown and distant cracking and squeaking.

Once in a while, little vermin would find him. Rhaast could feel them before they even got close; their life sparkling like distant, faint stars. He could hear the scratching of their little claws, their sniffing and the fast beating of their small hearts. Some of them would wriggle their snouts with curiosity, only to be immediately consumed as soon as they touched the cold surface of the weapon.

He was hungry. He was starving. He had been for an eternity. He would feast on those creatures, even if their life was extinguished in seconds, even if they weren’t more than a breath in an infinite sea of void.

And then, when only blackened bones and ashes remained, silence and emptiness would came back, and the Darkness would grew powerful, and he would feel so little, so lost, so nothing.

’ _Do not forget, Rhaast_ ’.

“ **Silence** ”, he ordered. Begged.

Freedom was all he wished for. Freedom to go out, to walk again, to bring chaos and destruction and so much death and pain. To let all the rage out, get lost in blissful bloodlust, find the fulfilment he so desperately needed in performing his ancient purpose. His core demanded it, pleaded for it.

He wanted freedom to let go. To cast his memories away and stop feeling that denial, that hunger, that despair. He would sacrifice his sanity and his will in order to stop being torn by that excruciating pain. He would do anything, anything…

Anything except forget.

’ _Do not forget, Rhaast_ ’.

“ **Just let me go** ”. If he could only let those memories go.

Sometimes he felt so disconnected from the images in his mind that he couldn’t even recognise himself. That Rhaast couldn’t be him. That creature in the battlefield, so fierce, so strong, so full of bright passion and purpose, surrounded by his brethren, couldn’t be him; immobile and weak and alone in the dark.

But who was he, then, if not Rhaast? What was he? Just a consciousness lost in the Darkness. How it laughed at him now, seeing him so miserable.

Rhaast. Why couldn’t he be like the other Rhaast, free? What happened to the world he remembered, so full of life, compliant and ready to be destroyed?

’ _Do not forget, Rhaast_ ’.

He wanted to forget. Let the silence sink in, let the darkness take hold, and be gone. Be gone, be gone, be gone, be gone…

He was not Rhaast. He was nothing except Rhaast. It was so hard to decide, so hard to gather his being into a single vision when he was so torn apart, his mind was shattering and he was loosing himself in the cracks, over and over…

Then a sound. A light in the dark.

The litany bewildering him like a curse suddenly broke, and Rhaast became very aware of himself for the first time in an eternity.

He felt it. He saw it. Beyond the stirred earth and the confusion, so much sound around him, deafening. There was heat, the dim aura of a person, much bigger and brighter than the pests he had been feeding on. He could hear the fingers scraping the soil with caution, as lost as he had been.

But they brought light to Rhaast, nothing more than a white spot at first that grew with each second until there was a window of blinding light.

It was so pure, so painful to see… It illuminated the earth prison he was trapped in, shattering away the Darkness. Rhaast could almost hear the panicked shriek it made as it went away.

A face appeared amongst the light. A young boy, with curly hair and a dirty tan looking with wonder at the thing he had unearthed by the most unexpected of chances. The shape of the scythe was distinguishable, a polished surface of grey and a dull red, dirty with mud but without a trace of rust on it.

The boy’s gloved hand hovered over the strange weapon until the sphere in the centre opened, revealing a single, red, glowing eye, full of all that was evil in the world. He screamed in surprise, falling back.

Rhaast remained still, overwhelmed by the amount of sensations he was receiving after an eternity of isolation. The light, so blinding even when it was just sunrise. The sounds, the soft whisper of the wind and the chirping of birds and the distant babbling of water; so deafening. The dryness, the warmness…

But all of that paled in comparison to the life energy presented in front of him. The hunger it awakened from him was unreal, the thirst so strong it made him desperate. With every new heartbeat inside the boy’s chest memories came back, powerful, his purpose renewed following the rhythm like a drum.

’ _Do not forget, Rhaast_ ’.

He had not forgotten. He never will.

“ **Will you prove yourself worthy?** ”

His voice came out louder than any other time he remembered having spoken, and the only one when it really mattered. Soggy and fierce and demanding, his words coming from nowhere startled the invader of his confinement. His saviour.

“ **Come** ”, Rhaast spoke again, tempting promises dripping from every letter into the mind of the boy. Power, strength, victory… all of that he could provide. There was fear in the human’s heart, and it was so sweet to taste, so satisfying…

Like a wanderer through the desert that finally found an oasis to satiate his thirst, Rhaast saw all his hopes taking shape when the boy slowly started to reach towards him, with an unsteady, shaky hand. Curiosity and greed guided the gesture, and the darkin would never have guessed it would be so easy.

The child was lost the moment his fingers touched the hilt. Rhaast found his way inside with ease.

Surprise made way for panic, but when the boy tried to let go of him, it was to late. The darkin’s malevolent consciousness got inside him, filling his veins like poison. The burning tendrils of his power touched his human essence and his flesh, corrupting it irredeemably. Skin started to tear and turn red, dark carapace protruding from inside like claws. But worst was the attack on his mind: it opened the boy from inside out, allowing the darkin to steal his feelings and thoughts, drinking from them like a life stream.

And it was so fulfilling at first, to feel the flesh bended under his touch, to see the images of a world he had been denied for so long. Fields of green, tall cities of grey stone and proud red standards, the distant smoke of an unknown war, the battle cry of warriors and victorious citizens…

But as his power extended inside the screaming boy, as his flesh was being twisted and transformed into something alien without turning back, Rhaast understood.

This was not a good vessel. It was too young, to weak. Feeble limbs, diseased lungs, a will broken with too much ease.

It was not worthy.

Rhaast froze as the realization sank in and then raised again in the form of a boiling wave of fury. The darkin scythe started to vibrate and his eye burned in red.

He screamed, and his voice drowned his failed host’s last lament, covered completely in dark carapace. Red cracks started to appear on the surface as Rhaast’s power flew uncontrollably inside him, filling him more and more when there wasn’t enough space to contain it all. Terror and pain were the last things the boy felt as he heard the darkin’s furious roar, full of denial and desperation.

The body broke. It made a disgusting sound as flesh and bones torn apart and the chest opened up in half, spilling red meat and corrupted blood.

The fingers that were holding him broke too, and the connection was lost. Once again, Rhaast was alone, half buried into dark soil. The sound that followed was the soft crackling of flesh slowly burning to ashes.

The darkin looked at what he had done. The inside of the corpse -it was impossible that thing was still alive- glowed with a red light that was becoming dimmer as seconds passed. Light shaped its broken ribs, its mouth opened in agony and the empty sockets of its eyes. The solid carapace that has covered the boy’s body was slowly eroding and melting, and soon only a dark stain would be left.

Silence came back. Darkness turned his glance again to Rhaast in the form of a cold air, stronger now that the human presence was gone. His eye was looking at an empty sky for the first time in aeons, but he felt trapped. Nothing had changed; he was still there, forgotten, and soon the dirt will cover him again, cutting him off reality once more. Darkness was already nagging his snath with so much possessiveness…

Rhaast felt empty. Empty of strength or hope or future. He lost an opportunity that was never there in the first place, condemning himself to that prison once more.

Any pleasure, any euphoria he could have felt, was erased by the certainty of an eternity in isolation.

He closed his eye, tired and bitter and so furious. He said nothing, his own silence heavy on his core, until he could not take it anymore.

He screamed.

It was an angry, primal, terrible sound. It scratched the earth and disturbed the birds and the water, cracked the rocks around him and made the air vibrate as if even it was going to tear apart.

Rhaast screamed until his body seemed close to the breaking point, painful, metallic sounds escaping from his sharp angles.

The worst part was he knew once he stopped, the silence would came back again, swallowing him like the ocean swallowed a pebble in the shore.

How many times did he have to endure that? How long will he be able to maintain his sanity?

‘ _Do not forget, Rhaast_ ’.

Silence. Darkness. Rhaast was tired. He let them engulf him whole.

This could have been the time when he finally lost himself if it wasn’t for the distant voices that suddenly came from far away, approaching. Not one, but many.

Where once was a boy, a small group of men appeared. Rhaast contemplated them with apathy, a tired, malicious feeling in his half lidded stare. The men whispered agitatedly between them when they saw him and the remnants of the boy. They wore the same clothes as him. They were probably from the same group.

“ **Come or leave** ”, the scythe spoke, startling them. Then added in a mumble, as he closed his eye: “ **None worthy…** ”

The whispers became more agitated. Rhaast, in his diluted state of mind, understood the word ‘darkin’ and ‘weapon’. They knew what he was.

Two of the men left, leaving two more behind, watching him with distrustful eyes. Rhaast hoped one of them was ambitious enough to try to wield him and at the same time he didn’t. He was so tired. Words failed him so he could not bribe them with anything that it wasn’t his menacing shape and an eye that opened from time to time, full of dark promises.

The men made turns to watch him, but none dared to get too close. They remained mostly silent, exchanging soft whispers as if they feared the scythe taking hold of their secrets. The darkin couldn’t have cared less.

After a while, more men came back. They brought with them chains and ropes and a strange red fabric covered in black runes.

They surrounded him. They unearthed and covered him. They tied him up.

Without even touching him, they started to drag him out. The men were shouting and someone was giving orders like she was chanting a spell. Rhaast didn’t acknowledge the fact that they were taking him away until the light of the sun touched directly the edge of his blade, filling him with a warm sensation.

It brought more to him, things that Rhaast was too numb to identify: hope, maybe; uncertainty, fear or euphoria.

‘ _Do not forget, Rhaast_ ’.

Leaving the Darkness behind, he was taken out to the world of mortals.


End file.
